


100 Days

by zonerunner



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-21 17:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zonerunner/pseuds/zonerunner
Summary: 100 can be a big number or a small number, depending on the context. It's a big number when used to describe innocent, harmless things such as miles walked in a day, people in a room, or school textbooks owned. There are some instances, however, in which the number 100 seems so constrictingly small that you barely have room to breathe. This is one of those instances.





	100 Days

100 can be a big number, or a small number, depending on the context. It’s a big number when used to describe miles walked in a day, people in a room, or school textbooks owned. **  
**

However, when Virgil Sanders was told he had a maximum of 100 days left to live, that number suddenly seemed incredibly small.

Deep down, in the very back of his mind, a part of Virgil had known this was coming. It made sense, what with all the signs pointing towards this: unexplained weight loss, breathing problems, tiredness that never seemed to leave - hell, he’d even been coughing up blood - but it never occurred to Virgil that he was dying. He hadn’t let it occur to him. He couldn’t be dying.

Funny, wasn’t it? How the doctors never actually said the word “dying”, as if they didn’t want to upset you. No, they never told you outright. They said “extensive stage small cell lung cancer”, and then gave you what they called a “life expectancy” in the hopes that maybe you wouldn’t feel like breaking down if they didn’t say _that word_.

Too bad - as soon as the death sentence left the doctor’s mouth, Virgil went numb. The room around him started spinning, and he tried to catch his breath, head dropped and staring at nothing. He only vaguely registered the doctor explaining that treatment would only give him a few extra months at best, and Roman arguing that there must be some way to stop this, to get rid of it, to do anything.

“Roman.” Somehow, Virgil found his voice, touching his friend’s arm lightly. Roman’s eyes were brimming with sadness, and Virgil knew that his eyes must look the same way. “Leave it. It’s useless, you heard him. I don’t want treatment when all it will do is draw out the pain. I want to go home.” His voice broke on the last word, and he hoped that Roman would listen to him for once.

Roman was silent for a moment, and Virgil could see wheels spinning inside of his brain. He clearly didn’t want to just admit that Virgil was a lost cause, but at the same time, Virgil knew that Roman wanted what was best for him, even if that meant giving up.

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you, Dr. Jacobs.”

The white-clad doctor nodded solemnly. “Goodbye, Virgil. I am truly sorry for your circumstances.” For a moment, Virgil felt a twinge of sympathy for Dr. Jacobs. What must it be like, to tell people they were dying, to be the one to deliver the news that breaks families, relationships, friendships, and then watch lives crumble before him? However, as quickly as the emotion appeared, it was gone, swallowed by the void of numb denial that had consumed Virgil so quickly.

The drive home was silent, the mournful atmosphere almost tangible as Roman gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, a behaviour Virgil knew was a sign of Roman trying to keep himself together. It was only when the two had re-entered the house, with no sign of the others, that Virgil sank down to the floor, back resting against the couch, and let himself go, silent tears streaming down his hidden face as his shoulders heaved.

“Oh, Virgil…” Roman sat down next to him, leaning against his broken friend as he tried and failed to refrain from crying himself. He didn’t offer any words of encouragement. He knew Virgil wouldn’t want to hear empty phrases, wouldn’t want to be told that he’d be okay when he was dying. Instead, he let him cry, holding him as he fell apart.

Eventually, after Virgil’s eyes had run dry, he looked up at Roman, whose already fractured heart shattered at the sight of the expression on his face. It was a raw, emotional expression, more broken than anything Roman had ever seen, and it made him want to scream with the unfairness of it all. Virgil didn’t deserve this.

“I don’t want to die, Roman.” It was barely more than a whisper, but the words echoed in every corner of Roman’s mind, and he knew he’d never stop hearing them.

“I know, I know, Virgil…” Roman held him tighter, wishing desperately that he could do something, anything, to help him.

“There’s so many dreams that I haven’t achieved yet… so many things I haven’t done… and now I never will.”

“Don’t say that, you’ve still got time…”

“No, I haven’t!” Virgil swallowed, a useless attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I’m dying, Roman! You heard Dr. Jacobs, I have a hundred days - and that’s the best-case scenario!” His voice fell, dropping to almost a breath. “I’m a lost cause. I’m going to die.”

They fell into silence, clinging to each other like a drowning person would cling to a rope. And in a way, they were both drowning.

Finally, after what felt like days, but could only have been half an hour at most, Virgil broke the silence. “We should tell Logan and Patton. It’s not fair to keep them in the dark, they have a right to know.”

“Very well. I’ll go get them. Would you like to tell them, or should I?”

Virgil hesitated. “I’ll tell them.”

“Okay. Sit at the table, or on the sofa. You can’t be comfortable down here, and it’s not ideal for us all to sit on the carpet.”

A minute or two later, the four housemates were seated in the living room, with Logan in the armchair, Patton and Roman sharing one sofa, and Virgil sitting alone on the other, staring at the ground.

“Everyone, Virgil has some… news he would like to share,” announced Roman, none of his usual dramatic tone accompanying the exhaustion-laced words.

If Virgil had looked up, he would have seen the confused apprehension on Patton’s face, or Logan’s expression that suggested he knew, to some extent, what was coming. Virgil took a deep breath, trying to form a coherent sentence, but could barely speak. How do you tell the people you love that you’re dying?

After several seconds of silence, Virgil closed his downcast eyes, and shakily said, “I have terminal cancer. At the very most, I’ve got 100 days left to live.” His statement received with silence, Virgil looked up and watched Patton and Logan break the way he and Roman had. It was a type of destruction that could never be fixed.

“Are you positive that this is inevitable? Surely there is some way to cure your illness?” Logan asked emotionally, voice trembling with the threat of tears and holding none of it’s usual assuredness - he sounded like he was clinging onto straws, unsure of himself for once. It was the first time Virgil had seen him truly put his emotions out for everyone to see.

“There’s nothing, Logan. It’s… it’s hopeless anyway, and any sort of treatment’s only going to draw out the inevitable pain, and I’d rather not suffer for any longer than I have to.”

Patton hadn’t said anything, remaining unusually silent, head dipped to the ground. In a way, this was the most unusual reaction of them all - Patton always had something to say.

“Patton? Are you okay?” Roman asked.

Suddenly, Patton stood up and ran - if it could be called running over such a short distance - to Virgil on the other sofa, hugging him so tightly Virgil was sure he’d be crushed. As Patton’s grip tightened around his lungs, Virgil tried unsuccessfully to take in a breath; only then did Patton loosen his arms, although he didn’t let go. It was as if he was scared that letting go meant that Virgil would disappear then and there.

Patton mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder, the utter misery in his voice magnified by his tears. “Don’t go. You can’t die. Don’t leave us. Please.”

“I-I’m sorry, Patton. I’m a lost cause. I’m… there’s no point in anything. I mean this: I’m not going into a hospital ever again. If I’m… if I’m going to die, then I want to spend as much time as I can with the people I care about. And that’s you three.”

Despite his best efforts, a few tears fell down Virgil’s face, and he closed his eyes. He knew he had to be strong, but right now, he couldn’t summon the willpower to even try.

Suddenly, a second pair of arms joined the desperate embrace. Virgil opened his eyes to see Roman, eyelids squeezed shut, such desperate heartache on his face. Seconds later, Logan joined them, and the four sat together for a long while, a group of desolate people, hollowed out and filled up with unbearable sadness. Loving your friends as if they were family was all well and good, until someone breaks.

 

And so it came to be that a scant 67 days later, at the bottom of a downwards slope of deterioration, Virgil lay in his bed, breathing shallowly, barely conscious, with his three friends around him. Everyone knew that this was the end, the overwhelming reality of the situation threatening to consume them.

A desperate, hollow despair overwhelmed Roman as he looked down at the thin, ghostly pale shadow of his friend, who a few months ago had seemed so alive. He thought of Virgil’s smile; of the way his eyes had sparkled with humour and life; of the witty nicknames and back-and-forth insults between them; of the way Virgil quietly hummed Disney songs over the stove, but denied it when caught; of how, when you got past his dark, sarcastic exterior, Virgil was one of the kindest, funniest people you would ever know. He didn't deserve any of this. Now, all that was left of the person who was barely given the chance to live was a hollow-cheeked, barely breathing figure. Nothing was left of the person he once was.

And so, as tears fell from the eyes of the three left standing, an almost silent whisper came from between Virgil’s lips.

“I’m scared… it hurts…”

“We know, Virgil… it’s okay… it’ll be over soon…” Patton replied, truly and utterly destroyed, but trying his best to comfort his friend in his final moments.

“Don’t forget me…”

“We won’t. You’ll be okay, Virgil.”

Virgil exhaled one last time, his chest going still. Eyes widening in shock and denial, Logan took Virgil’s wrist and desperately felt for a pulse.

After ten seconds of holding his fingers to Virgil’s wrist, ten seconds which seemed to last an eternity, Logan dropped his friend’s hand.

“Nothing,” he choked out.

At Logan’s words, Roman turned around and left the room, completely numb. He walked out of the house, mind in a haze, as the world seemed to turn black and cave in around him, life as he knew it crumbling once and for all.

When Roman came around, he realised he was sitting in a place he recognised: underneath a tree in the park, masked by shadow. This was where Virgil had come so often, to be alone and just listen to music. It had been one of his favourite places, and to Roman, it held the very essence of his friend. A desperate feeling, more raw and intense than anything he had felt before, overcame him; he wanted to scream, to lash out, to cry, but none of that would ever bring him what he really wanted. None of that could bring Virgil back.

Drawing his knees to his chest, Roman found himself overwhelmed by pure misery once again, and let the desperate feeling overcome him as sobs racked his entire body, no end to his despair in sight.


End file.
